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Jon crawled under the broken wire fence, feeling a bug crush underneath his palm as he made his way through the other side, then seeing tens of others skitter away into a distant, run-down mill. They grimaced, wiping its gore onto the rusted gate, unsurprised but unhappy that some gross, unknown filth that rubbed off on the gate and onto their hand.
Filth… this place sure encapsulated it. He was sure he found the right place for The Corruption’s hasty ritual, seeing as when he shone his torch around the small grassy field surrounding the building, there were small bugs all over the ground, that strange film on the fence, and small pools of murky, discoloured liquid that could be called water, if you put it extremely graciously. Surrounding them, covering the whole field, was pillowy soft earth that felt like if you stepped too hard, it would collapse under you. Jon swore he felt something wriggling under it.
He stepped forward, cautiously, scared that the ground would cave under him, until he crossed the field to a mossy stone platform near a back door, fresh cobweb spun to seal the heavy double doors shut, decorated with scampering spiders. Jon grunted angrily in frustration and disgust, with the smallest hint of a chuckle at Martin for thinking a couple small spiders would do more than just put him off. Of course, it did do just that, but in the back of his mind, he was just repeating to himself that spiders like that can’t hurt you, searching somewhere for hope that Martin wouldn’t really put Jon in danger of being bitten by the arachnids.
Jon took a handaxe to the cobwebs, swiftly cutting the silk. Before he went in, he covered his face, hands, ankles, any possible bit of skin that he could. He managed to cover most of the eyes now decorating his skin, save the original two. He grabbed the handle tightly, taking a deep breath before cautiously prying it open.
The inside of the mill was damp and dark, only lit by dim, yellow lights that cast light of the murky, algae-infested water back onto the walls. The place was like a marsh, and about 2-3 inches of the lowest part of the ground floor was completely covered in swamp with patches of tall grass peeking out of it. Dirt and grime covered all of the surfaces of the place.
Jon knew his plan, running it through his mind over and over as he carefully navigated the mill, avoiding going down any steps that’d lead him into the small ponds. The Beholding decided to be of help, telling Jon just where central ventilation systems were. He’d brought loads and loads of pesticide with him. It was a shabby plan, but they weren’t exactly keen to share it with the others. Better me than them, he thought, but he tried to keep a mind that he’d get out of there without being bitten by rotten insects or suffocated by pesticide fumes.
He was surprised, though— Not many mosquitoes just yet, at least not colonies of visible ones. One or two may have landed on him, but he took the measures he needed and swatted them away angrily. If he got bit and caught some ugly disease and survived, then he could hope the bite at least spread some type of venomous scar across him. A trophy for stopping another uprising.
A nagging headache started to form above his temples, like something was attempting to crawl out. He decided it was a side effect of The Corruption’s ritual, trying to shake off the familiar feeling despite it being very, very uncomfortable— reminding him too much of the first attack on the Institute.
Jon had a small amount of confidence aside with his fear, due to his “experience” with The Corruption before. Back when things were… at least somewhat simpler. At least, when Sasha and Tim were alive, though one would reach their end quickly. When he didn’t have so many questions about Gertrude. When the extent of his problems were just trying to sort the archive, not trying to prevent the uprising of the fears on earth.
And of course, his mind wanders to Martin, if it weren’t already there in the first place. It would only be a matter of time until his Webbed partner came face to face with him again. He didn’t know how much of the real Martin was still left in there, but clearly, whether he was far-gone or not, he was here. What with the ridiculously sealed door and a couple of skittering forms above him on the ceiling that creeped him out. It occured briefly to Jon that Martin must get something out of their fear. He also reckoned Martin had just as much, if not more of a plan than him. He recalled briefly of a time that Martin ranted about the relationship between spiders and mosquitoes… but hell if he could remember the specifics.
Jon went up a couple of stone steps, opening another set of doors slowly and carefully (not before chopping up another set of cobwebs), flashing his torch around the room and finding it even more grimy than the rest of the building. Water dripped from the ceiling, and moonlight cut through the old, broken and filthy windows. He stepped through the threshold, silently and slowly, as his headache grew evermore splitting. The fabric of his coat felt more heavy, like something was just stitched to it. He checked the sleeves, and found that instead of a mass of bugs piling onto him, his coat practically grew a pair of moth wings, like a cape. They had large patterns, resembling eyes, that would occasionally turn green against the brown backdrop of the wing. Not exactly his preferred style of clothing, but he wasn’t about to ask for the centipedes.
The whirring of a tape recorder started, and with a disconnected voice, he muttered, “What…?” Before a large mosquito lunged toward his face— and it wasn’t large as in a normal large— it was grossly huge, Jon could see the intricacies of its face if he thought to look at them. He clamored back, dropping his torch and cursing the thing, trying to swat it off, but it just would not peel away. Just as its tiny stylets began to cut his skin, it was pulled violently away by a thread, followed by a large crunch. Jon violently wiped at his face until he was sure it was gone, before looking around the room for the thing that pulled it off.
And what a surprise; Jon never figured Martin for one to eat insects per se, but he knew firsthand the diet changes that came with becoming an Avatar.
Across the room, from a different door, stood Martin— no, no, it wasn’t him. It was different, and he was framed by the beam of the dropped torch. He had two arms, then four, then six. Two ink-black eyes reflected in the light from Jon’s dropped torch; then four, then six, then seven. Scars cut across his cheeks, looking like cobwebs. But he still had that smile— No, no he didn’t— two terrifyingly sharp fangs peeked from behind his lips, that wasn’t the same sweet smile.
“Jon!” Martin said, with an expression of bewilderment but a tone of scolding. “What do you think you’re doing?!”
Jon put a finger to his lips— well, the ones that should’ve been there in place of the eye— in a meagre attempt to silence him, but it was no use. Jon’s head darted around, as hundreds of mosquitoes and bugs scuttled and flew toward him. This time, it was Jon’s own turn to be yanked by Martin. As they were pulled against the larger person, he felt movement below Martin’s skin, immediately shoving himself away as spiders crawled from under his clothes.
“God! M-Martin, what the hell is—!?”
“Hush. Look at them.” Martin said, taking his hand, now looking at the eight-legged things with pride as they devoured those wretched bugs. “Don’t be afraid of them, Jon, they’re here to protect us. And to serve as a warning, one you didn’t heed. I suppose I should’ve just put a big sign on the door that said ‘Don’t come in, I have a plan, you’ll die if you try to go through with your own’, but I have a feeling that wouldn’t even have stopped you.”
“What? How did you know that—“
“The Web and The Eye work together, Jon. Occasionally. Sometimes The Web divulges information to me, more than it should. It’s smothering, loving. It doesn’t suppose that I’ll do anything with it anyway, I’m so strung up, after all.” He chuckled softly.
Jon stayed silent, torn at the ways Martin changed, pushing him away as he watched the spiders feast on the mosquitoes. Jumping spiders… disgusting. “I don’t have time for this, I-I don’t need your things near me— I have a plan, Martin. Please stay out of my way.” Jon started to storm away, but he was pulled back again by a web, Martin taking both of his hands.
“You would’ve been eaten by them if it weren’t for me. Twice now. And get yourself some better gloves, Jon, you know I don’t like the feeling of Latex.” He took the gloves off of them.
“Martin—!”
“Oh, hush, they won’t come near us. Not with me around in the first place, the spiders were just a precaution anyway.” In an instant, Martin laced his fingers over Jon’s, weaving silk gloves for him. “That’s better, don’t you think?”
“M-Martin, I have things to do—“
“And I have backup to wait for. Things to lure to someone named Gabriel Valentine. A certain few among mine are going to pay the bastard a visit and teach him a lesson about spreading disease and venom… his ritual is funny. Very cursory, just like your plan.” Martin teased as he took the mask off of Jon’s face. “Look at all those handsome eyes. We match now, don’t we? Like we did so, so long ago. Back when you only had two. And talking from the tape recorder… It’s creative. I like it.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s temple, still splitting with pain. “You’re almost dressed for the occasion, after all, we both have time to kill. Say, did you mean to stitch those wings onto your coat?”
“N-No, I didn’t… I think The Corruption is changing me…”
“Oh… Interesting. I like it, though! Also, I’d say the moonlight here casts a very nice scene for the two of us. It’s been a while since we danced, right, Jon?” His voice almost got lost in nostalgia as he pulled Jon into the middle of the room. “Do you remember when we’d put on our favourite album in the morning and dance to it? I mean, it wasn’t good dancing, but it was fun. Do you remember the nights that we comforted each other by just swaying softly to those archaic love songs in our room? I’d just hold you. It was only us and the music, Jon. Let it happen again. The Corruption has a song, listen to it. Listen to me.” He pulled the backpack from Jon’s shoulders and tossed it to the side. “I have this completely under control.”
Jon shivered. “Of course you do…” It wasn’t even cold in the mill, after all, it was a good 23 degrees. “How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you’re not working for The Corruption?”
Martin just smiled. “When has a spider ever spared a big meal? You can’t, Jon, but you can trust common sense…” Martin steadied Jon with a different set of hands, and he could see a ring that Martin still wore, one that matched with Jon, as a quiet tune hummed in the background. “I missed you. Now dance with me, please.”
Jon groaned as the ache peaked, with two large antennae sprouting from the sore spots. They let out a yell that only really came out as garbled noise through the recorder.
Martin laughs with soft pity, rubbing his shoulder, and as soon as Jon was over his fit, he twirled them around. “I guess the Corruption likes you as a moth. I think it’s fitting. Do you know what a moth is to a spider, Jon?”
“You know I don’t.” Jon stepped along in sync, like he knew the moves, despite never doing them in his entire life. His back was to Martin, and he could feel another set of hands creep to his waist.
“Prey.” Martin whispered into his ear.
“So— So what, are you… are you going to kill me when this is over?? Eat me?? Y-You said a spider wouldn’t show mercy to it’s meal, so—“
“Oh, of course I’m not going to kill you. Don’t kid yourself, Jon, I still love you too much for that.” Martin said. “You have to believe that even if you stopped it, you would’ve died, and we can’t have that. I’ve spent all my time these past years trying to keep you safe… I’m not letting you go on another suicide mission. I took this one into my own hands, otherwise there would be a lot more worms burrowing into you than before.”
Jon grimaced, but he didn’t stop dancing. “Why are you protecting me, Martin? I-I mean… you’re part of The Web now, I don’t understand.”
Martin dipped him. “A Weaver can’t lose his Watcher. And you don’t understand this place like I do. Your plan would’ve failed and you would’ve died; We can’t have that, now can we?”
He repeated that last part, more sternly than the first time.
“How do you know it would’ve failed?!” The Archivist asked, now frustrated. There was feedback from the tape recorder.
“Jon…” The taller of the two sighed. “So long ago, you were finally able to just trust me. Where did that go?”
“It left when you became an Avatar of the Web, Martin. You’ve lost yourself, you’ve changed so much, I— I don’t even know you.”
“That’s not fair. After I became an Avatar, you got distant from me, Jon. You don’t know me because you don’t allow yourself to. I’m just… I just align a little differently.” He smiled knowingly. “Are you the same? When those poor people on the street got their deepest memories pulled out by you.” Martin said, not passing judgement, in fact, there was almost a degree of admiration in his voice. He slid a hand between Jon’s shoulder blades, pulling them dangerously close, their lips only inches apart, eyes somehow piercing all of Jon’s with the darkness that swam in them. Jon’s guilt was clear on his face. “So don’t tell me that I’m the only one that’s changed here; You just don’t like that I’m associated with the thing that hurt you. But I am not just a Weaver, not yet. I still know some of myself, you have to know that too.” His tone finally began to shift from bitterness to gentleness as he took a deep breath, “But we’re both monsters, Jon. I’m no different than you are. We’re alike again, more than you think. Why do you think you know this dance so well if you weren’t somewhat… how does your patron put it… compelled?”
Jon froze as the two of them stayed right there, the music pausing like it was waiting for them to move first. He chose his next words carefully.
“Your breath smells like an old basement.”
Martin let out a laugh. “That’s what I thought.” He pulled away, resuming the dancing and the music in tandem. “You make slights because you know I’m right. You don’t like admitting that you’re wrong, and you don’t like being wrong, but I’ve caught you in my web, if you’ll excuse the analogy.” It wasn’t annoyance by any means. Martin was far familiar with the way Jon was, it was more of a short-lived game to him than anything, a ‘who can have the last laugh’ before Martin got tired and shut him up or Jon just gave up after the second or third counterpoint with an ‘Alright!’ which was their admittance of defeat.
“It’s always been like this, Jon. Have we really changed as much as you think?”
Jon stammered softly before shutting up. “…Alright.”
Martin pulled him in close again. “There you go,” he said softly. His voice was smooth, like silk, more so than it had ever been, “that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Jon stayed silent as the two of them kept dancing. Step in step, Martin handling him like he was a professional, Jon following like he knew the steps. Truthfully, Jon hadn’t danced quite like this a day in their life, but hell if he was to break whatever spell or control Martin put him under. Despite their surroundings being squashed, half-eaten bug corpses and filth, Jon and Martin were pristine, a thousand eyes on them— bugs, beholding, spiders— it didn’t quite faze either of them anymore.
“I need to carry out my plan, Martin.”
“No, you really don’t. I think what you need to do is trust that I can pull the strings where it’s best. You can let go of it, Jon, I need to get used to my power anyway. This is a good time to do it.”
Jon contemplated listening in the far reaches of his mind, but he also felt like he just should. Every word from Martin wasn’t a suggestion, more a demand, and he felt that creepy sense of being controlled. Slowly, the eye replacing Jon’s mouth closed, and he swallowed. Like they were just pursed, his lips returned in their place.
“Not nearly as monstrous as before, Jon. This is what I’m saying,” his tone was firm, yet caring, “you catastrophize so much that you destroy yourself. You make yourself out to be worse than you really are. You’re not turning as hastily as you think,” he chuckled, “we have plenty of time to become what we were destined to.”
The two took bigger steps, dancing fully around the room, sweeping across the squalid ground, never breaking physical contact. No matter how infinitesimal it was, it was Jon’s shield from the insects.
“Martin,” Jon started, taking a breath. His voice spoke from both his mouth and the tape recorder, like an echo, “do you think we could go on like this?”
Martin’s soft smile grew. “I told you I missed you, Jon.”
“I know, but… I’ve been looking desperately for answers… I don’t want to be a monster. I don’t want you to be a monster, but… i-it’s too late, isn’t it?”
“Just a little. But… we can manage.” The music came to a standstill yet again as the dance pulled them together.
“Well… if there’s anyone I have to be around… you know, you with all these… webs and hands, ways to stop me if…” Jon trailed off.
Martin brushed a curl out of Jon’s face.
“…I trust you, still, Martin, even if you’re one of The Web. I trust that you’d be able to stop me… and if we’re really so far in, or if we’re getting there as you think, then… Then I want…” He painfully stammered through his words, trailing off and mumbling multiple times over. “I mean, if we get worse, if we lose ourselves more…”
Martin shut him up in his own way, taking Jon’s face in his palm and leaning down to make contact. All seven of his eyes closing, Jon’s however-many following. He almost drew back out of surprise, but God, he missed this. He swallowed back a sob when the uncanny familiarity of it hit him. He was right, it was like taking a breath in an old basement. But there was that sweet, underlying taste like honey and tea, something Martin always had. It was hard to avoid the new fangs, though. The kiss was relieving and calm, like a month of pent-up worry expelled back to the other, a day at a time, wordlessly transferring that knowledge.
Martin broke the kiss, almost in a hurry, and turned his head toward the broken windows. “I-I… Jon, I need you to listen to me. Whatever you do, don’t open your eyes. Any of them.”
“What, why—?”
“I told you to trust me, Jon, we just had a heart-to-heart about this.”
“N-No, I’m not, what if—“
Jon’s eyes shut tightly anyway, not by his own will, as he felt skitters of legs around him, almost shifting his footing. He held onto Martin, hoping that this spider would never hurt him. Knowing without Seeing that an avalanche of spiders, big ones, small ones, fuzzy and hairless, jumping or biting or weaving, were covering the floors and the walls in waves, it was terrible.
“Martin, what did you do…?”
Martin leaned in close to his ear, calmly and gently. “I need you not to flinch. She’s fragile, not used to being here. She gets aggressive when she’s threatened. Don’t let go of my hand.”
Slowly, terribly, terribly slowly, eight long legs found their way up Jon’s clothes. He didn’t know what species it was, and he didn’t want to. Up his pant leg, he wanted to stomp his foot to get it off. Then over his back, he worried it would bury beneath his collar and down into his skin. Under his shaking arm, terrified that it would startle at his trembling and sink the elongated pincers through his coat and into his skin. Finally, it landed right onto his hand. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight steps, and then it was gone.
He wanted so badly to pry away from the hand that held that thing, but he knew he’d risk centipedes and beetles and the lot begging for an escape from the arachnids that would closely follow up his clothes like a twisted game of cat-and-mouse.
“It’s alright, Jon,” Martin let go of one of his hands to walk next to him, “I’m sure you understand why I told you to stay out now?”
“Yes, yes, I do…”
“Mmh. And you now know you can’t exactly leave at the moment.”
“Yes…”
“And you know we need to cut through the crowd to find Valentine?” Jon could’ve swore there was a hint of mockery in his voice.
“Yes, Martin, I get it, please, let’s get this over with…” Jon said dreadfully. “A-And… Please keep it away. I know that you’re getting something out of scaring me, but… please just hold off for a little bit.”
“She doesn’t like you very much, so you don’t have to worry about it anyway. Keep your eyes closed.”
Jon shuddered at the thought and said with a bitter edge, “That’s terrifying…” He now only held onto one of Martin’s hands anyway as they walked slowly throughout the rest of the mill. “Where is it?”
“Where’s what?”
“The… The spider. The one on you. I don’t… I don’t want to see it… or feel it.”
Martin laughed softly. “Do you want to look at me, Jon?”
He let out a small grumble as Martin laughed. “She’s perched on my hand. The one you’re not holding. The one furthest from you.”
Slowly, a small, green eye appeared in front of Martin, floating in front of him. He waved at it, and looked at the slightly comforted smile form on Jon’s face out of the corner of his eye.
The two continued, mostly in silence, save for a couple crunches, presumably Martin enjoying some of the leftover bugs that were a bit cleaner. Jon’s eye had disappeared once they saw something scamper on Martin’s sleeve in the corner of his eye.
It was a small tarantula, one that made a home in Martin’s backyard. It whispered in his ear on the whereabouts of Gabriel Valentine. Martin thanked it and sent it off.
“We’re going the right way. I’m going to have you stand back while the funnel and I do the dirty work.”
“The funnel…? Wait, did you bring Hel—“
“No, no. The spider, Jon.” He snickered softly. “Gabriel Valentine is going to know exactly what a plague feels like, but not from the alluring touch of those blood-suckers… he’s going to know it from The Web.”
Martin spoke with an edge of fierceness in his voice. Whatever he was going to do to the man, it wouldn’t leave him alive. Jon thought back to “funnel” …what a strange name for a—
—How did he get an Australian spider all the way here? Wait, and that thing was crawling on Jon? It could’ve actually pierced his coat and killed him if he shook too much??
Jon opened his eyes as The Beholding gave its lovely gift of photographs. He shook it from his mind and looked into Martin’s instead. He didn’t know what he expected, really. Nothing less than what was going on in his own mind, but a couple memories of the last time they danced at home.
The two of them— not including the spiders, mind you— reached a heavy steel door, propped open with a brick. Martin and Jon peeked through the door at a man poised against the wall, like he was physically wounded at the deaths of the bugs. Spiders deserted the room, finding that all their food was gone from it. He was shabby, and through the yellow, flickering light of the room, they could see a hopeless smile on his face.
He attempted to sputter something about The Corruption, but was promptly interrupted with a web shot into his open mouth from Martin’s fingers. Next was his wrists against a pipe on the wall.
“Gabriel Valentine. It’s lovely to see you.” Martin said cheerily, folding his hands in front of him politely. “You leave a remarkably easy-to-follow track!”
The man made a muffled yell and struggled against the cobweb, wriggling to get out, bloodshot eyes wide in anger with tear tracks falling from them.
“I don’t think I need many words, it’s not like you’ll remember any of them.” Another set of hands twisted with the funnel spider to keep it walking on level ground. The fear rose in the man’s eyes. Martin fed on it like he was ravenous. “But I do have to thank you, you kept all my spiders well fed. That’s what’s important to me, in the end. This one though… she took quite the trek.” He looked admiringly at the spider in his hand. “She’s very, very desperate to get something out of this. I made sure to keep everyone else on a limit, but her? She’ll clean this place right up. She wants a quality meal. Lucky she’s not hungry for moths.” Martin glanced to Jon. He turned his hand upside down as the spider weaved a thread around his finger and suspended itself down to the floor. Jon grimaced and instinctively stepped back, turning his head from the thing. Valentine laughed at that; Well, as much as he could, from beyond the gag. Martin’s head snapped back up to him. “You seem so amused, Valentine. Should we make this more painful, somehow? Or do you want to know what happens when a sweet funnel spider bites you?” The smile persisted. “It’s fascinating. Jon knows all about it.”
Shock pulsed through Jon’s body for a moment. Had he been implying that he got bit?? No, no, he’d be laying on the floor in muscle spasms, coughing and struggling to breathe. The fear filled Jon’s eyes too, and he looked to Martin in a desperate plea to not be another bit of prey by the end of it.
“Go on, Jon. Tell him what happens. I’m sure he’d love to know.” He rocked on his heels slowly and sweetly, staring at Jon intently, with the same piercing look in those eyes.
Jon stammered at first, but the words came out. “You… You’ll spasm. You won’t be able to swallow, or breathe, or move. You’ll throw up your insides, your head splitting open, while your heart seizes.” As soon as he finished speaking, he looked to Martin, finding a warmness in his heart at the grin he gave them, but also a beating fear that maybe, just maybe, those exact things would happen to Jon.
Valentine looked fearfully down at the slowly approaching spider, moving tactfully, like it were savouring the moments before satisfaction. He attempted to shake it off as it creeped up his reddened and raised flesh, swollen lymph nodes hilling the skin that the spider ever-so-slowly inched over. Valentine yelled and screamed as loud as he could, but it was all muffled and lost underneath the web.
The spider positioned itself at Valentine’s neck, and for what felt like a full minute to Jon, it slowly sank its pincers into his skin, draining its horrid venom into him. The man stopped struggling at once, only a dry sound from his throat spilling out.
Martin smiled, satisfied, and he severed the webs, letting the pathetic man drop to the floor, shaking. The spider crawled back over to Martin for instruction. He pet its head softly with his finger, calling it a good girl and telling it where exactly to find the best meals. It skittered off, pleased with itself. Jon relaxed only once he saw it creep away from sight, then turned back to the suffering Avatar.
Through gasps and sobs, spasms and coughs, Valentine begged for air wordlessly. He whimpered and stuttered at the starts of sentences as the Beholding started to burn into him.
“It’ll take a while to really kill you. Tell us exactly what you were planning.”
His vocal chords were mangled through tears, rocking back and forth, itching, digging blackened nails into the bite, drawing blood. His eyes were wild with fear and adrenaline. “I-I don’t have to—“ He looked at Jon despite knowing better. His protests trailed off as he gasped for more air, staring into those green eyes. “O-Okay!! Okay!!”
Jon smiled softly and kneeled in front of him. Despite being the one to feed Martin, he was somewhat envious of how filling the job was for him and his patron when Jon hadn’t gotten much out of it just yet. This was his golden opportunity. “Good. Statement of Gabriel Valentine, regarding his frankly amateur attempt at a Corruption Ritual in an old mill near North Finchley…”